


A Walk In The Park (Not Really)

by Huntress79



Series: Love Among Spies Series [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M, Slashorific Writing Challenge, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4582047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/pseuds/Huntress79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow-up to “The Spy Who Loved Me”. Several months after their spectacular first mission, Neal and Peter meet again – under quite unique circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Walk In The Park (Not Really)

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for slashorific 2015. Prompt is in the cover. Inspired by the promo pics, posters, interviews and caps (by kanarek13) for the upcoming new movie with Matt Bomer. Betaed by sherylyn, on very short notice. Thank you so much sweetie! The lyrics Neal is singing at the beginning of his routine are from “Fever” (I prefer the Peggy Lee version, but the Elvis Presley version is not bad either)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/sandy79/26529227/30190/30190_original.jpg)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Club “Exquisite”_

_New York_

 

Even while he exited the limousine and headed up the stairs to the entryway of the club, CIA Operative Peter Burke couldn’t help but wonder as to why Hughes had agreed to having the meeting here, of all places. There was way too much open space, too many doorways and entries and exits for possible assassins, not to mention that there was always the possibility for enemy ears and eyes in waiters, barkeepers and other employees. The usual dim light in joints like that made it nearly impossible to (a) read your opponent’s face and (b) react to any kinds of attack before they could do any serious damage. Long story short, Peter Burke was not happy about being here, not at all.

He entered the club’s main room and, after letting his eyes getting used to the stark contrast of a neon-lit stage and dark alcoves, went over to the bar, as part of the meeting “game.”

The person he was about to meet claimed to have very vital information in the CIA’s latest case, revolving around international operating hitman Julian Larssen. According to their intel, Larssen was heavily involved in staging an assassination on U.S. soil. Homeland Security already knew the target, but the CIA was tasked with gathering enough information to apprehend Larssen.

Peter was about to spare a glance on the clock behind the bar when the whole room was suddenly shrouded in virtual darkness, only the small red lanterns on the table provided some light, but too little to see any details. Peter’s Spidey senses, as Diana always called them, were instantly on alert, when the sound of a rhythmical, light foot tapping could be heard from the direction of the stage. Fingers snapping the same rhythm were added to the sound, and a blue light slowly broke the darkness, illuminating the silhouette of one of the club’s dancers in the process. Peter was, like many others in the audience, drawn to this unknown person, curious to disclose the man.

_“Never know how much I love you…”_

Peter’s eyes grew wide, and for a fraction of a minute, he was thankful for the dim light in the club. Was that…? No, it couldn’t be, or could it?

_“Never know how much I care…”_

Now, upon hearing that sultry voice singing the second line, Peter was certain – Neal was performing on stage. And as if on cue, the main spotlight went on, bathing Neal, dressed completely in black – tank top, trousers and suspenders, finishing off the look with an equally black fedora – in almost white light. Absorbing the reactions of the audience like a sponge (and using it as some kind of energy), Neal made his way through the stripping routine, snapping and rotating his hips in a way that Peter knew all too well in all its most intimate details.

Finally, Peter’s brain was catching up with his eyes (which were still glued to Neal, who was already to his boxer briefs and second set of suspenders) and began to ask some questions: What was Neal doing here? In New York, and in this specific club? Did he know about Peter’s upcoming meeting or was it just a coincidence? And why didn’t he mention any of that when they Skyped last week?

In the meantime, Neal’s “Fever” routine was in the last stretch (as well as his clothing – only a black thong was trying to cover his most private parts) and he chanced a look over to the bar and to Peter. When M had told him about the call from Hughes and Peter’s latest case, Neal was more than a bit worried about his lover. According to the CIA director, Larssen was not only involved in attempting an assassination on the First Lady of the USA, he also was set (and paid) to kill Peter – the order had come from none other than Philip Kramer, the same highly decorated FBI agent who had deep rooted links to both Avery Phillips and the late Vincent Adler. Both Neal and Hughes had come to the conclusion that Peter was still digging into the matter, and that he was on the right road if Kramer resorted to such drastic measures.

The routine finally ended, and Neal made his way back from the bachelor table on the left side onto the stage, bowing one last time before disappearing behind a curtain. He all but tossed his clothes to Rich, one of the other dancers, before disappearing into his dressing room, where he quickly donned a shirt and a pair of jeans. One final check-up in the mirror, and Neal was ready to become the anonymous informant Peter was supposed to meet.

Back in the main room, another dancer, a young Hispanic American, had claimed the stage, and while there was pretty much next to no difference to the moves Neal had performed, Peter didn’t get the same vibes from them. Grabbing his drink, he couldn’t help but chuckle upon realizing that it was probably because he knew Neal intimately.

“Mr. Cartwright?”

The voice appearing next to him brought Peter out of his reverie, and within a second, he slipped back into the “part” of Peter Cartwright, a ruthless tycoon in everything agricultural – and with a problem named “wife” on his hands. They had issued an inquiry in certain circles indicating that Mr. Cartwright would pay any amount to get the problem solved – once and forever.

Peter got up and followed the short man, dressed in classic waiter garments, to the staircase leading up to some more private rooms on the second floor. They already knew that some of the dancers also sold their bodies to the guests, and apparently their informant had arranged to make their meeting look like it, too.

“Ken, your client is here. Mr. Cartwright.”

The short man spoke to whoever was already waiting in the room, and much to Peter’s chagrin, he blocked the entry with his body.

“All right, send him in. And Ted, no disturbances in the next hour or so, okay?”

“Okay, Ken. You need anything else?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

The man stepped back and pushed the door open a bit more, and for the first time Peter could see that the room was, just like the bar only several minutes before, was almost completely dark.

“What are you waiting for? A written invitation?”

The short man, apparently going by the name “Ted,” looked at Peter as if he had grown a second head out of the blue.

“No, thanks.”

Before the other man had time to react, Peter made his way into the room. He was just one step over the threshold when he found himself pressed against the door, closing and blocking the only entry effectively in the process.

“Easy, easy.”

Peter loved enthusiasm and eagerness, but not in every situation.

“We only have an hour. And we are being watched.”

Neal made a slight nod with his head to the corner on Peter’s left side. He had to squint, but he could finally see the small camera, capturing everything that was happening in the room.

“So what do you suggest?”

“I suggest we make the most of it.”

Without waiting for Peter to answer, Neal pulled them both over to the large bed. Somehow, he managed to turn them around so that Peter was landing on it first. And while his American lover was still trying to catch his breath and give his mind time to catch up, Neal made quick work of both Peter’s jacket and tie.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Neal’s only answer to Peter’s exclamation was a raised eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, I like what you’re doing, but slow down, just a bit.” Upon seeing Neal’s slightly confused look, Peter pulled the younger man closer and whispered into Neal’s ear. “I want us both to enjoy it, at least to some degree.”

Neal couldn’t quite suppress the slight shudder that went down his spine upon hearing Peter’s voice. While it was already sexy enough when he spoke in a normal manner, it had a special effect on Neal (and certain parts of his anatomy) when he heard it in close proximity, just like now.

“Okay, but we have to go through with it.”

Peter’s eyes went wide upon realizing what Neal really meant. Great, now he had to have sex in front of an unknown audience. Sure, it was his “boyfriend,” but that didn’t make it easier. And he still had no idea when he was meeting his informant.

In the meantime, Neal had continued with undressing Peter. Shirt, shoes and socks joined the jacket and tie on the loveseat, and Neal was already working on Peter’s fly when the latter’s mind caught up and ordered his hands to get Neal out of his clothes, stat.

“And who’s the eager one now?”

Neal’s voice was full of humor, and Peter also found a bright twinkle in the blue eyes. And try as he might, Peter couldn’t help but agree to his lover’s words.

“Yeah, but thankfully I’m not the only one.”

The last part of the sentence was almost lost in a throaty moan, uttered mostly due to the fact that Neal had wrapped his hand around Peter’s cock. The younger man kept still, but just feeling Neal’s hand on him was doing things to Peter he never thought were possible.

“You like that, don’t you?”

Neal’s voice dropped at least an octave and was almost as sultry as back downstairs on the stage. Peter knew that the MI-6 agent was a sexy as hell plethora of talents, but he didn’t know that this fact extended into the younger man’s bedroom talents – until now.

Peter finally managed to get Neal naked, too, and in no time, the men were rutting against each other, the only sounds in the room their moans and kisses, the slapping of skin on skin and the occasional “whine” of an abused bedspring.

“Take me.”

Only one sentence, but enough to almost get Peter derailed from this wonderful activity.

“What? Why?”

“It has to look realistic.” Upon Peter’s confused look, Neal got closer to Peter’s ear. “I know from one of the dancers that the bouncers have no qualms to kill if the ʻshow’ doesn’t satisfy the audience.” He pulled slightly back to look Peter in the eye. “And it would be such a waste if they would have to do with you.” With a wink, Neal got up and walked over to the small dresser next to the door, in all his naked glory. He rummaged in the top drawer for some moment before returning to the bed, holding a bottle of lube in one hand and a strip of condoms in the other.

“You know what they say about great expectations, Ken?”

“Yeah, but sometimes these expectations are met.”

He put the lube in Peter’s hand, and the American made a quick job of working and preparing Neal’s opening. Sure, neither of them were happy about the circumstances, but at least Neal somehow got extremely turned on by the whole situation.

Peter turned them around, so that Neal was lying on his back, and had to suppress a chuckle about the way Neal’s legs almost immediately fell wide open. Wasting no time, Peter lined his cock up with Neal’s hole and, after getting a final nod of agreement from the younger man, pushed in until he was buried to the hilt. Both men moaned loudly, and a part of Peter’s brain was more than happy to register the apparent want in Neal’s voice.

“Are you planning on moving any time soon, Mr. Cartwright?” Peter’s look told Neal that he wanted to make sure that Neal had adjusted to the intrusion, and that again caused Neal to utter an almost inaudible sigh. “You know, I’m not a delicate lady. So stop wasting that brain of yours on thinking you might hurt me and start moving!”

To drive his point home (pun intended), Neal bucked his hips up, causing both men to moan and at the same time increased the already delicious friction between their bodies immensely. And finally, Peter began to set a rhythm. A rhythm that quickly escalated into a frenzy, a cacophony of sounds coming from both the men and the bed.

Way too soon for his own liking, Neal felt a certain heat making its way from the depths of his belly to his balls and his own leaking cock. Before long, he would come, this time without being touched by either Peter or himself.

Peter also felt his orgasm approach, and one look at Neal told him that the younger man wasn’t far behind. Once again, he increased the speed of his thrusts while changing the angle of hips as well. The deep, guttural moan coming from Neal was enough for Peter to know that he had hit Neal’s prostate.

“Peter…”

Neal’s voice was strained and just a tiny bit above a whisper. It was just a matter of seconds before the younger man was ready to cum, of that was Peter sure.

“Come for me, Ken.”

Peter said it like issuing an order, and Neal was more than eager to follow it to a T. While the waves of his orgasm rippled through him, Neal clamped down on Peter, triggering the orgasm in him, too.

Neal was truly and absolutely spent, and while his brain registered that Peter had pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to him, his body had no intention of getting up at some point in the very near future. Unfortunately, not everyone was okay with that plan. And so the sudden silence in the room was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Ken? It’s me.”

Peter saw Neal visibly relaxing upon hearing the voice, and after a “come in” from the younger man the waiter that had taken Peter up to the room came in.

“We have to move, now!”

Though he was heaving a sigh, Neal got up from the bed and got dressed again. Peter was rooted to the spot, clearly confused about was happening right now.

“Come on, Peter, get dressed.”

Neal nudged him on the shoulder, and Peter saw him holding up his clothes.

“Okay, can anyone tell me what the heck is going on, please?”

“Larssen is here,” the short man with the round glasses answered.

“Julian Larssen? The hitman?”

The man nodded, and for the next few moments both he and Neal thought they were watching Clark Kent getting dressed under the use of superspeed. As the last item, Peter threw on his jacket.

“Alright, let’s go. But the two of you,” he pointed at Neal, then at the other man, “owe me an explanation.”

“You will get it, but first we have to get you to safety.” Neal turned to the man. “The video?”

“Already taken care of.”

“Good. Meet at rendezvous point five in an hour, okay?”

Without waiting for the other man to confirm, Neal pulled Peter to the stairwell leading down to the backdoor exit, where a car was already waiting for them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, Neal pulled into the parking garage of a hotel almost on the other side of New York. Apparently, the whole staff was involved in their mission, since not only a parking space near the stairwell was reserved for them, but they also had upgraded the suite Neal was staying at to the top of the game in security. Whatever was going on, Peter concluded while riding up in the elevator with Neal, a life was at stake.

Finally, they were in the suite, and after checking all doors and windows, Neal motioned to Peter to have a seat at the coffee table.

“Neal, what is going on? And why are you thwarting my mission?”

“Because I don’t want to get you killed.”

Suddenly, it dawned on Peter that the third man had mentioned Julian Larssen. Apparently, someone had put a hit on him. But who?

“Larssen has the order to kill me, right?” Neal only nodded. “Any idea who’s ordered the hit?”

“The man you and Neal missed in Asia.”

Peter couldn’t help but jump slightly upon hearing the new voice. Neither of them had heard the door open and close.

“Who are you, anyway?”

“Theodore Winters, Quartermaster of the MI-6.”

“Wait, he is…?” Peter asked. Neal nodded.

“As they say, in the flesh, Suit. But my friends call me Mozzie.”

Mozzie took a seat as well, and Peter finally had time to comprehend what the man had said in the first place.

“Phil Kramer? My mentor Phil Kramer, the head of FBI’s Art Crimes division, has ordered the hit on me?”

“As crazy as it might sound at first, all evidence points to him. Moz and his team have checked both the phone records of Larssen and Kramer, and there were multiple contacts between them.” Neal got up and walked over to the bar, pouring three tumblers of whiskey and handing one to each of the other men before sitting back down. “You’ve been looking into the case, didn’t you, Peter?”

“Yeah, but just because I wanted to know what might have caused Phil to work with men like Phillips or Adler in the first place.”

“Well, whatever reason you had, your digging was enough for Kramer to put Larssen on your trail,” Mozzie all but grumbled.

“I have to contact my team…”

“Consider it done, Peter. Your team probably has known about it for some time now. Hughes contacted M about you working on the Larssen case, and MI-6 offered to help out,” Neal explained, and all of a sudden, he sounded very tired, at least to Peter.

“Then we found the connection to Kramer, and before we knew it, Neal and I were on our way to the Big Apple,” Mozzie finished the story.

“Thank you, guys, for everything.”

Neal and Mozzie only nodded, and several minutes later, M called to tell them that both Kramer and Larssen were apprehended by the FBI and that the NYPD got an anonymous tip about a human trafficking ring under the disguise of a strip club.


End file.
